


Well Worth The Wait

by Entropyrose



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Matt has a surprise for Frank, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, don't want to give away the surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9135214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: A prompt fill for MarriedToAnAvocado's:2. Honeymoon Fluffy Smut4. Matt being a tease (aka Matt is on top for once)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> A very Merry Belated Christmas to the lovely and talented MarriedToAnAvacado, who has waited patiently for a present! I so hope this lives up to your expectations. I didn't want to rush it--you are worthy of my absolute best, so here's 17 pages of Fratt and matching Fan Art! I took Matt being on top literally, so I hope that is okay (he is still receiving).

The Priest’s inner office looks and smells pretty much exactly as Frank expected it would—stuffy, dark and stacked with centuries-old books; the only available light streaming through a sealed stained glass  window that looms above the old man’s desk. The only thing remotely out-of-place is the laptop that graces the hard-wood, one side hidden under a leaning tower of paperwork and the other side stained with wide brown rings that signify its primary function as a cup-holder.

 

The man with the white collar eyes him critically and silently, exaggerating the crow’s feet that line them. Frank shifts, sliding one leg over the other and balancing his canteen on his lap. “Mind if, I uh--?” He gestures to the cap.

 

“Of course not. Please.” He waves a permitting hand towards Frank and continues his death-glare.

 

Frank’s eyes shift up to the old man’s, then down again. Then up again, before pouring out his coffee into the canteen mug. His tongue juts out to flick nervously over the rim before inhaling a scalding-hot sip.

 

“I presume Matthew may have explained why I asked you here,” The Priest finally begins.

 

“I uh…got a pretty clear idea, yeah.”

 

The overstuffed leather office chair groans as Father Lantom leans back and folds his fingers together in his lap in front of him. “I have known Matthew for many years. He has been a faithful parishioner and has a good head on his shoulders. So you can understand my…apprehension…when he announced your intentions.”

 

Frank is the one leaning back now. His chair has a flat, square block for a seat and a back made of solid wood and Frank is pretty sure it was built in the middle-ages for the use of gaining a confession through torture. And as far as he can tell, it’s working. He eyes the slats that stick out from either side and wonders if the hole at the end of the arm-rest was designed as a cup-holder or a place to hold your thumbscrews. “Yeah…” Frank really wishes the Father would get to his point. The Kitchen Irish ain’t going to kill themselves, you know.

 

“I understand you are a man of the world,” he continues. “Matt has not told me much beyond that. That was one of the reasons I wanted a chance to meet you in person, before—“

 

Frank interrupts him with an undignified snort. “That all he told you?”

 

The Father purses his lips, obviously aggravated by the head-shorn upstart. “Yes. That was all.”

 

OH, goody. This is going to be fun.  Frank takes another sip before placing the stained cup on the desk in front of him. “Well, guess that’s all you need to know, then.”

 

“Not hardly!,” The Father lets out a sharp laugh that jiggles the white tie at his throat. “Mr. Castle, I do read the paper you know. We are not a convent. Matt doesn’t think I have connected the dots, but they were connected for me, long ago. Now, I cannot stop you two from doing…whatever it is you’re going to do…”

 

Frank raises an eyebrow.

 

“…but I can very well make certain I have had my say in the matter.”

 

“Fine, what—whaddya me to tell you that I’ll love him, till death do us part and all that bullshi—“

 

“Mr. Castle!”

 

“Sorry. You want me to tell you this is forever? That it?” Frank’s gloved hands land on the arm-chair with a loud “SLAP”, indignant, the velvet of his voice mixing with the rumble of gravel in his chest. “Fine with me. It’s for forever…however long that is for me.”

 

“You are a murder, Mr. Castle.”

 

Frank raises a finger. “No,  I’m a _damn_ _good_ murderer is what I am.”

 

Father Lantom’s finger flies into Frank’s face. “See! And that—that is the kind of outlandish, reckless behavior that is going to land you—both of you—in hot water. How am I to know you will protect him? Care for him? Where will you live, in some underground bunker—?”

 

Frank shrugs and considers the possibility. That wouldn’t be all _that_ bad… “Well, he’s got his apartment, so.”

 

The father shakes his head, his patience wearing thin. “No. I am sorry, son. If you are looking for a partner to follow you into the depths of whatever hell you’re digging yourself, it will NOT be Matthew. Not MY Matthew.”

 

Frank is halfway through wondering if this is the part where he tells the Father that they’ve already boned on numerous (really, really numerous) occasions when reminders of Matt’s words pop into his head.

 

_“Father Lantom, Frank. If we’re getting married, it has to be Father Lantom.”_

 

Frank inhales deeply and lets it out slow. “Okay, okay, Father. Look. I…I love Matt. I do. I want to protect him. I would do anything— _anything_ —to keep him safe.”

 

The old man leans forward, elbows on the desk, knowingly. “Would you stop all this? Cease all this…killing?”

 

Frank shakes his head softly. He is exercising his patience. Suddenly, it seems he’s found the source of all Matt’s goody-good “justice” rhetoric . “I would, if that’d do it. Believe me. But there’s bad people out there, Father. They need to be stopped. And you might not agree with my methods, but you and I both know that the Police can’t do shi—“

 

The Father raises an eyebrow.

 

Frank corrects himself. “Sorry. The police can’t do _anything_ to stop what’s going on out there. Not alone.” He reaches again for his mug, taking a slow sip.

 

“And what about children?”

 

Frank spits out half his coffee and chokes on the rest. “What>cough<wh-what now?”

 

“Well, say if you two were to adopt. Where would that child live? What kind of life would he or she have?”

 

“No kids,” Frank says quickly. “No kids. Matt knows that.” He stares down into the coffee mug, silently.

 

The Father sees the sad change in the black-clad vigilante, so he sighs, relaxing back in his chair. “He is very much like a son to me, Mr. Castle. I would do anything to protect him, just as I know you would…” He eyes the man across from him in a softer light, now, his face expressing empathy. “…Including dragging any serious suitor through a one-on-one discussion.”

 

“Nobody’s getting ahold of him, trust me.” Frank mutters, still lost in his refection in the dark pool of liquid. “He is mine to take care of, mine alone. I do love him, Father.” He snickers in reminiscence, then, adding “He’s a pain in my ass. Drives me crazy. Gets in my way. Spoils all my good plans. Stubborn to a fault…and I love him.”

 

The father’s hands are folded again and he pauses for a moment, his gaze hovering just above the black tuft of hair on Frank’s head. “If that is how you truly feel, then I suppose it can’t be helped. Very well. I will perform the ceremony. On the condition—“

 

Frank raises his head.

 

“—that you abstain from intimacy until your wedding night.”

 

“Oh come ON!” Frank’s hand lands on his knee, sloshing the coffee in the mug. “Are you fuckin—are you kidding me??”

The Priest fails to hold back a wide grin and shrugs. “Take it or leave it.”

 

Frank launches himself out of the torture chair, turning on a booted heel. “Goddamn it…FINE.”

Father Lantom reclines back, a satisfactory smile crossing his face as the vigilante packs up his mug and his duffel bag and huffs off.

 

* * * * *

 

“So..?” Matt is anxiously turned towards the door as Frank enters the apartment that night. He is sitting on the couch, at the end closest to the door, legs crossed like he is trying to be *anything but* nervous.

 

Frank pauses to scratch the nape of his neck, his eyes trailing around the room, unfocused. “Uh…yeah. Yeah he said it’s fine.”

 

“Really?” Matt’s breaks out into a triumphant grin. “He’ll do it?” He springs up, wrapping his long arms around Frank’s neck, burying his head in Frank’s hoodie and letting out a relieved sigh. “Oh thank god. That’s great.”

 

“Yeah,” Frank says, warily. One hand trails up Matt’s back to softly pet his hair.

 

“God, Frank…” Matt’s face turns towards him, pouty lips nuzzling the underside of his earlobe. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

 

“Yeah, me neither,” Frank huffs.

 

Matt stiffens and backs away, holding Frank at arm’s length and tilting his head quizzically. “Everything okay?”

 

“Huh? Oh yeah. Yup.”

 

Matt’s eyebrows furl. “You wouldn’t be keeping something from me, would you? ‘Cause you know you’d just be wasting your time.”

 

“What—no! Everything is ffiiiiine. We’re set. We’re good.”

 

“Perfect!” Matt plants a chaste kiss on Frank’s temple, spinning out of his arms to grab his hands, flinging Frank down onto the couch like he’s some sack of potatoes. The strength in those sinewy muscles of his still surprises him, every time. He follows Frank down, crawling onto his lap, spreading Frank’s thighs with a hand on each boney knee and turning around to plop his ass between them. “Just think…in twelve weeks—“

 

“Twelve?,” Frank squeaks. “What happened to three?”

 

Matt chews on his bottom lip in thought. “Well, there’s the Charity auction coming up in August. Then Foggy’s birthday…then you wanted to organize that stake-out at the Yakuza hideout...”

 

“Okay, okay,” Frank says, as if he’s trying to coax himself into a calm state.  “What about two weeks then? That’d be fine, right? It’s June. You like June.”

 

“Yeah,” Matt thinks aloud. “The lilacs should be in bloom by then. Oh shoot, you know, we can’t then, either.”

 

“What—why?”

 

“Karen’s allergies. The lilacs will ruin her.”

 

“Well then, screw the lilacs! We’ll get hitched indoors.”

 

Matt’s dark eyelids flutter underneath the dark red lenses. “You…sure…there’s nothing bothering you?”

 

“Yes—“ Frank clears his throat, trying for a lower octave this time. “Ahem. Yeah, I told you I am fine.”

 

“Really?” Matt twirls in his arms, touching their chests together, and his breath smells like the honey tea he loves to drink. His lips taste honey-sweet, too, and Frank moans into the kiss. “Because it sounds like you could use a stress-reliever…” Matt’s lips pucker against his and he breaks it off with a sultry little “pop”.

 

This has Frank purring instantly, looping his thumbs into the waistband of Matt’s pants to hitch him up further onto his lap. Within seconds, he is growing hard against Matt’s soft bulge as his fiancée teasingly bumps against him. He hisses. “Fuck…Red…”

 

“Hmmm, that would be the idea,” Matt chimes, reaching underneath the oversized hoodie to rake his fingers across Frank’s warm abdomen and the light dusting of hair there.

 

Frank groans, suddenly—not the good kind—stilling Matt’s hands from crawling up any further, gluing his eyes to the ceiling. “Goddamn it…”

 

Matt lifts his head, a genuine look of concern crossing his face. His dark eyes peer into Frank’s quizzically. “What is it?”

 

Frank sighs, as if in lifting the truth off his chest he can finally breathe. “Well, there was *one* thing…”

 

“I knew it!” Matt lets out a flustered puff of air and adjusts his glasses. “Did he say we can’t have it in the Church? That’s what he said, isn’t it. Because we’re men.”

 

“What? No. It’s nothing like that. It’s just…he wants us to wait…” Frank is inwardly cursing himself even as he drags Matt’s fingers out from under their warm hiding place, interlacing their fingers.

 

“Wait…?”

 

“Yeh. You know. Till…>erhm<….the wedding night.”

 

A glorious little blush of pink flares around Matt’s cheeks and ears, and he lets out a soft laugh. “Is that it? God, Frank you really had me worried for a minute, like he had some kind of, you know, problem with *us*…”

 

“Naw, it’s just a stupid traditional rule, I guess. But you know, what he don’t know won’t hurt him…” Frank leans forward, stopped by a hand at his chest.

 

“ _We’ll_ know.”

 

Frank snickers, but it dissolves into a whimper when Matt blank expression doesn’t change. “What…fuck, Red. You _serious_? I mean, it’s not exactly like you’re The Virgin Mary.”

 

“I get it, though. I do. Frank, why not? Why couldn’t we wait for each other. I think it’s kind of sweet. Besides…” Matt’s eyebrows wiggle up and down. “…just think of how fun that’ll make the wedding night.”

 

Frank wriggles uncomfortably against the overstuffed cushions, his brain scrambling for a reason—a fail-proof reason for why this is the most bat-shit crazy, stupidest rule in the history of *ever*. “Yeah, but…”

 

“Oh, come on.” Matt seems content to rest his head on Frank’s chest, tucking himself snugly in between his muscular legs, wisps of auburn hair tickling Frank’s collar bone. “We can do this. I want to. Besides…” He finds Frank’s hand, gives it a gentle squeeze. “You’re worth the wait.”

 

Frank’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…”

 

“Twelve weeks,” Matt says, like it’s no big deal.

 

“Twelve weeks,” Frank groans.

 

* * * * *

 

By week four, Frank is convinced that his dick has joined the plot to deny him any action at all—the slightest touch from Matt has him burning, but going solo doesn’t cut it any more. Before Maria’s death, before shit went south, he was never the kind of guy that needed it more than a few times a week. Then, when she and the kids died—he died, too. Everything, right down the kitchen sink. Including his libido.

 

Enter a certain leather-and-spandex clad vigilante, and suddenly Frank’s world gets turned upside down. Again.

 

They’ve gone at it, possibly hundreds of times by now. At first, it was frantic, lust-filled meetings in the back of Frank’s van or on some desolate rooftop. They transitioned quickly from that to longer, passionate sessions beneath the black satin sheets on Matt’s bed.

 

Frank didn’t even have a ring to give him when he came out and said it one night, muscles spent and shuddering, skin glistening with sweat and lungs burning as they both came up for air, face-to-face, lips hovering inches apart. “Marry me.”

 

Matt had gone completely silent, all the air going out of his lungs, head falling back to the pillow, a sudden angry expression crossing his face. His eyelashes fluttered . “That’s not funny.”

 

“It’s not a joke.” Frank gave Matt’s bicep a soft squeeze for effect. “I’m not kidding, Matt. Why don’t—“ His tongue had jutted out over lips that were suddenly dry, finding his throat parched. “—I mean, why don’t you marry me?”

 

Matt’s anger had turned into exasperation, but he let out a subdued chuckle. “What…you’re serious?”

 

Frank didn’t have to think twice. “Yes.”

 

The moonlight from the frosted windows cast enough of a light that Frank could see the smile spreading across his face. “Okay. Okay, yeah. I will marry you, Frank Castle.” They had sealed the deal with a firm kiss and rolled into one other underneath the bedsheets.

 

* * * * *

 

The wedding is small—just him, Matt, and of course the two tag-alongs, Foggy and Karen. Luckily for Frank, Karen agreed to stand with him as his best man, so his side of the aisle isn’t completely bare. Father Lantom alternates between sliding Matt unconfident looks and giving Frank an all-out death glare. “You’re…sure about this?” He holds an open Bible between them.

 

Matt flashes him a reassuring smile. “More than anything, Father.”

 

Father Lantom lets out a defeated sigh, shaking his head, and begins the proceedings.

 

Frank could swear he nearly catches a vision of a blushing Maria, dressed head-to-toe in white, making her way down the empty aisle, clutching a yellow bouquet. He shakes his head as Maria vanishes, turning back to the smiling man before him, because *no*…it’s not going to be like that again. And it doesn’t have to be.

 

Matt gives their joined hands a firm squeeze, as if he knew where Franks thoughts had drifted, and Frank smiles back, knowing Matt can *sense* it. He’s going to be there for this man. He’s going to guard him with his life. He’s going to love him, always. (One side of his mouth smirks upward as he adds to himself, _It’s no less than the ‘lil shit deserves, seeing as he has been the bane of Frank’s existence ever since he got back to Hell’s Kitchen._ )

 

The “I do”s. The cake(—because Karen of all people insisted),  even the rice falling on the steps to the church door as they leave, all ridiculous and overdone and wasteful…and yes, he’ll even admit, kind of cute. Frank rolls his eyes—Matt just laughs.

 

* * * * *

 

Frank has never been to The Waldorf-Astoria, but he’s heard stories. He figures it’s got to be steeped in tradition and gaud and overpriced luxuries they’ll never use, but he is also certain Matt will love it. They arrive several hours after check-in, Frank sporting a knitted gray beanie to hide his signature haircut and dipping his head as to not draw attention to the purple bruise under his left eye. The concealer Karen forced on him had lasted through the nuptials, but didn’t hold up much past that. Matt is busy “staring” at the ceiling—tilting his head upward directly underneath the waterfall chandelier that looms an easy sixty feet above their heads.

 

“My god,” he whispers, a glorious smile lighting his face. “It must be beautiful.”

 

Frank shrugs and pulls him towards the Reservation desk. “I guess it’s okay.” Frank imagines Matt’s senses are picking up all the millions of crystals that hang from the gaudy monstrosity and that they are reflecting light and sound in a way that has a kaleidoscope effect on Matt’s senses.

 

The “room” he booked—if you can call it that—is called a Royal Suite. Only twelve-hundred bucks a night for a place that takes up half a floor and comes complete with a sixteen-person shower (why?), a 100-inch flat screen TV, a kitchen, a dining room, a complimentary bucket of champagne on ice and all the decadent necessities a crooked Wall-Street mogul could ever ask for. But it’s worth it. He is worth it. And that look that Matt has on his face as the two doors swing open and he takes it all in?

 

_Priceless._

“Wow.” Matt strides in on the ultra-plush carpet, fingers tracing the outline of every chair and statue he encounters. Matt has taught Frank this—that there’s a lot more to experiencing something than merely “seeing” it. Matt is *feeling*. “You did okay, I guess,” he finally states with a grin.

 

“Okay? Just okay?” Frank snorts, feeling his back muscles stiffen.

 

“Yeah.” Matt sighs for effect, stretching out both hands as he throws open the double-french patio doors to the night sky and the gossamer curtains blow around his legs. “I mean, it’s not like we could get *another* room at this time of night, anyway.”

 

“Right,” Frank growls, dropping the bags. First thing’s first, he’s gotta get rid of this monkey suit. It’s cutting off the circulation to his brain. He kicks off the ridiculous dress shoes and yanks off the tie, tossing it haphazardly to the pointlessly soft carpet. (Like, seriously, Frank feels like he is in a Downy commercial.)

 

“Wait.” Matt turns from the widow, crossing the room in three big strides.

 

Frank’s hand hesitates at the top button of his shirt. “What?”

 

“I…” Matt licks his lips. “I want to remember you like this.”

 

Frank’s eyelashes flutter, but he stills himself as Matt’s skillful fingers find their way to his sloped forehead, the curve of his nose (a curve that is knotted and calloused from being broken numerous times), his full lips…slowly, painstakingly, they make their way down his chest, and shirt, over the silk lapels of the tuxedo, and Matt lets out a shaky breath. “Damn, I can still hardly believe it.”

 

“Believe what?” Frank’s so close to Matt’s softly parted mouth that his breath batters against Matt’s glistening lips.

 

“That this is all mine,” Matt finishes with a nervous laugh, and Frank’s muted snicker joins in.

 

Frank can feel the red heat as it crosses his face and skitters up the tips of his ears. Matt’s arms go around him, still trapped in gray Armani, and he savors the slow, sweet kiss he gives him.

 

“So should I start calling you _Mr. Murdock?”_

Frank cracks a wide grin, bumping their noses together. “Sure, _Mr. Castle.”_

What happens next…well…let’s just say Frank has never been one to be taken by surprise. Ever.

 

Until now.

 

He feels a sudden jolt in his ribcage and the sharp sting of his shoulder-blades as his back connects with the marble pillar behind him. “Shit—Red!” His arms go up, teeth momentarily clenched, body going rigid, as a big body flattens itself against his.

 

Matt’s mouth, no longer chaste and supple, devours Frank’s and Frank’s dick jumps as a fiery heat surges straight down between his legs. “ _Fuck,”_ Matt grounds out against Frank’s bottom lip, taking a firm bite that’s sure to leave a mark in the morning. His hands grasp the lapels of the monkey-suit, tearing them down and off Frank’s rigid biceps. Frank’s dog tags jingle together.

 

Frank suddenly realizes he has two options—pick up the goddamn pace or get rolled over. His heart leaps as he turns his head towards the plush coverings of the Cali King bed.

 

Matt lets out a soft laugh and whispers, “Ever the traditionalist.”

 

Frank is suddenly being catapulted backward, landing with an undignified “thud”, spread-eagle, against the hard contours of a wrought-iron daybed. “Ack—the fuck!?”

 

Matt joins him, still feverishly working Frank out of his unwanted confines. He slaps Frank’s polyester-clad leg and Frank obediently lifts his hips, wincing at the tearing sound the pants make from being forced down, belt still attached. He can’t help but wonder how much _that’ll_ cost them at the rental place. His cock, bouncing stiffly off his thigh, recovers quickly from the harsh brush of fabric only to be devoured by a warm, wet mouth.

 

“Fuck—shit— _Red!_ ” Frank cries out as Matt greedily sucks him down. Frank’s calloused hands go to Matt’s head, grabbing fistfuls of feather-soft hair, eyes rolling to the back of his head as the sloppy sucking sounds reach his ears.

 

Matt’s pace is slower, now, deliberate. He draws Frank completely out of his mouth to teasingly blow on the tip. Frank shudders as a bead of pre-cum swells at the tip of his dick and dribbles downward. With Matt’s nails digging into either side of his inner-thighs, he is getting painfully hard. Matt’s tongue flicks out, catching the overflow, trailing it with little zig-zag motions up and down the underside of his shaft.

 

Frank chokes down a sob, his head rolling along the contoured iron bar behind him. “Matt…Matt, stop.”

He wiggles his thumb closer to Matt’s pouty lips, hoping to satiate him with the digit, or at least pull him away a bit. “Shit…stop…I’m going to…”

 

Matt shakes his head, opening his mouth wide, swallowing Frank whole to the hilt.

 

“Uuuhh…fuck…” Frank’s voice dissolves into an inaudible string of profanity and “Red, shit, _Red—“_ as his testicles draw up tight and he comes, a stringy white cascade of semen coating Matt’s mouth, spurting forward hot and thick as the tidal-wave of pleasure crashes into him. He squeezes Matt’s scalp as he convulses, the little involuntary aftershocks pulsating his dick and sputtering into his husband’s mouth. He collapses with one final satiated grunt, pink and panting against the antique lounge.

 

Matt swallows, at last pulling Frank out of his mouth with a bashful/mischievous smile. He wipes a line of cum from his bottom lip and crawls up the length of Frank’s limp form, peppering little, soothing kisses along the quivering stomach muscles and brushing the tips of his fingers through the fine dusting of hair there. “Better?” He plants a firm kiss over Frank’s collarbone and grins up at him.

 

“…uh.” Frank drops an arm across Matt’s shoulders as he waits for his brain to catch up.

 

Matt slides away, the separation of their bodies allowing a chill to creep along Frank’s glistening skin.

 

Frank looks down at his limp dick, grimacing. “Sorta…sorta ruined it for us, though, didn’t I?”

 

Matt gives Frank a look that he can’t quite read, one that makes his comment seem inconsequential. “Not really.” Standing up, Matt hooks his fingers into the waistband of his slacks, and that’s when Frank notices the impressive bulge protruding from Matt’s fly. Matt must *feel* him looking, because he sniffs out a nervous laugh and shifts, cocking one hip to the side. “Like what you see, Mr. Murdock?,” he says, trying his own last name on his tongue once more.

 

“I do, Mr. Castle,” Frank retorts. His leg juts out to kick against the inside of Matt’s calf. “Wider, please.”

 

Matt chuckles and obeys, spreading his legs a little further and presenting the mound in his pants. He reaches down with a hiss, adjusting himself. The head of his cock protrudes, filling up the new room. “Hah, hah. Sorry.”

 

“Now maybe you have a little taste of what you’ve been putting me through for the last twelve weeks,” Frank teases.  “C’mon, Red. Show me what you got.”

 

There’s that slippery pink tongue of his again, sliding out to tease his bottom lip as the belt buckle slides undone with a heavy ‘clink’. Matt’s eyes flutter closed, as if he could look anyway. “No laughing,” he warns, and Frank’s eyebrow twitches with intrigue.

 

“Why would I—“ The pop of a button reveals a band of fine purple lace, graced with a tiny red bow far below Matt’s navel.  A peppering of fine auburn hair skitters down and disappears underneath, and suddenly Frank’s throat has gone bone-dry. “Christ, Matt.”

 

A heavy rouge dotting his cheeks, Matt squirms away, out of Frank’s reach. “It’s stupid, isn’t it?”

 

“What--? No.” Frank scoffs at the notion that Matt could ever possibly think such a thing. “God, no, it’s…” Frank’s tongue drags across his dry bottom lip. “Keep going. Christ, Red, keep going.”

 

Matt’s hands flutter to the lapels of the gray suit top and crisp white dress shirt, instead, unfolding like a flower before Frank’s eyes. The clothes shift and melt away into a satiny puddle at Matt’s ankles, leaving Matt’s long, muscular legs naked and only the dainty scrap of purple lace barely covering his twitching cock. A film of slick glistens through, forming a wet patch that has Frank unable to stop himself from reaching up to feel it.

 

Matt whines, forcing himself to remain still as the pad of Frank’s calloused finger slithers up his trapped dick, into the slick spot that is steadily getting wetter. “You like it?,” Matt coos. The look on his face is one mixed with enjoyment and embarrassment and it does everything to make Frank feel his own cock hardening again. “Karen picked them out.”

 

 Frank’s fingers splay out and round each curve of Matt’s muscular ass, slipping underneath the slick fabric to grab a firm hold and bring Matt forward.

 

Frank’s wide tongue slips past his teeth to taste the wet spot and Matt jumps, pushing him backwards into the day-bed once again. “N-no.” Matt’s voice is barely a whisper. “No, Frank. Just…just _feel.”_

Frank can’t imagine what has brought Matt to torture himself like this. Matt looks and smells and feels like a satin box of candy Frank could never afford. Why wait a minute longer? Still, he shakes his head and plays along, though not without a frustrated grunt rumbling through his chest. His hands clamp down tighter around the soft mounds of flesh, and he *feels* it at the same time Matt lets out a little despairing cry.

 

A smooth plastic base is embedded in Matt’s warm entrance. Frank lets a little gasp slip. “Wh…is this…?”

 

Now beet-red, Matt turns his head away, towards the curtains of the open window that are blowing in the night breeze. “Yeah.” He squeezes his eyes tightly, long lashes splaying out above his high cheekbones. “Yeah, it is.”

 

The caveman in Frank rears his head, a dark growl rumbling up from deep within his parched throat. “Fuck…” Frank grasps the end of the toy without warning, twisting with just the tips of his fingers, testing the soft, puckered flesh around it. “How long have you had this thing in?”

 

“Well, remember just after the service, when I said I had to go to the bathroom?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Matt chuckles a little despite himself, and the image of Matt bent over a dirty toilet seat, slicking his fingers with some sort of lubricant and pushing the toy into himself toys with Frank’s brain.

 

“Fuck…” Frank is starting to sound like a horny broken record at this point—because he is—and he could give a damn less because the sex is getting so thick in the air that Frank can hardly breathe let alone think straight. He latches onto the end of the toy and pulls, resulting in another startled cry from Matt. The toy is small, which is good, since Frank is positive Matt has never done anything like this before and shouldn’t risk hurting himself for the sake of a fun wedding night, a delightful surprise though it is. It slides out a little without much effort and Matt sighs into the touch.

 

“Mmmh…Frank…”

 

Frank frees up a hand to slide around Matt’s waist, feeling his stomach muscles as they contract and dipping his fingers into the waistband of the lacy underwear. Matt’s dick is in his face, but Frank has been instructed to _*touch only*_ so he blows on it, instead, sending a shockwave through Matt.

“Jesus, Red…so fucking beautiful…” The cry emanating from his new husband spurs him on, and in one fluid motion those little silk panties are sliding down to grace Matt’s knees. Matt’s balls draw up tight at the sudden rush of freedom and the glossy head of his dick jumps as Frank cradles them with skilled, calloused fingers.

 

“Frank…” His name on the end of Matt’s tongue is little more than a squeal. “Frank, please…now.”

 

“What?,” Frank urges, dipping his thumbnail into the seeping slit as his knuckles brush against the underside of Matt’s impressive length. The skin is wet, warm and sticky and Frank inwardly bets that he *tastes* as good as he *feels*.

 

“No!,” Matt pulls his head back with a firm yank just as Frank’s tongue sweeps out, using the tuft of black hair atop Frank’s shaved head as leverage. “Frank, no, please…I want…”

 

“Want what, baby?” Frank’s skilled fingers find the butt of the toy and pull against it, even as Matt’s raw entrance fights to suck it back in. He taps the end, knowing full-well the vibrations echo deep inside Matt’s hole. “You want this?”

 

Matt shakes his head, whimpering.

 

“No? You _don’t_ want this?”  Frank teases the entrance, feeling around the hole as the muscle stretches to allow him to draw out the toy. It comes forward with a little popping noise, and Frank’s thumb stops it from making a complete exit.

 

Matt is shivering now, the taught muscles in his thighs shaking and the grip on Frank’s head loosens. “God…uhh….Frank… _please_!”

 

Frank glances down between his own legs, finding his throbbing dick standing more-than-ready, giving it a few experimental tugs with one hand as he pulls the toy out with the other and it tumbles to the floor. “You want me in you?,” Frank growls against Matt’s ear, pulling him down to the day-bed until Matt lands with one knee between Frank’s legs.

 

“Mhh-hmm.” Matt nods his head against Frank’s, drawing a deep breath inward, stretching his arms out behind Frank’s head to grip against the wrought-iron post.

 

“You want my cock, Red? Huh?” Frank is positioning them both, now, one hand splayed against the divot in Matt’s back as he lowers him down. Matt’s entrance is slick and hot with lube, so it doesn’t take much more than a lazy thrust to drive himself inward.

 

Matt’s head rolls back, wavy cinnamon hair spilling down his neck, his dick throbbing and twitching as it’s crushed between their stomachs. His muscles contract, mercilessly squeezing the air right out of Frank as he begins to rut against him. Frank’s hips fly off the cushion, connecting firmly with Matt’s round ass, burying his stiffened, seeping cock into Matt’s tight entrance and slicking his walls with pre-come. “Fuck…baby…so beautiful…”

 

_There had been a time, once, when they were just starting out, a conversation had arisen. Matt had sat up on the edge of the bed, letting out a soft laugh in the midst of the darkness. Frank had thrown a hand behind his head and shifted under the sheets, staring up at the moonlight casing a hazy glow on his boyfriend. “What’s so funny.”_

_Matt had shaken his head. “Nothing...it’s just…” He perched his elbows on his knees, letting out a ragged sigh. “I guess this makes me the ‘chick’ then, huh?”_

_Frank frowned in surprise. “What? What the fuck’re you talking about?”_

_“Well, it’s just…you know…each time we do it…it seems…” Matt’s blush was evident in the dim light of the room. “You know. I’m the ‘chick’.”_

_Frank had sat up, then, a cold sting of bitterness running through him. “So, you think you’re the ‘chick’ just ‘cause you’re the one taking it. Okay. Alright. So, what, you wanna do me, Murdock?”_

_Matt’s eyes fluttered. “Well…maybe…I don’t know?!”_

_Frank shrugged. “That’d be fine with me. You never have to ask. I don’t give a damn. As long as I get my rocks off, I don’t give a shit how we do it.”_

_Matt’s mouth had parted, his jaw nearly hitting his chest. “You’re…you’re serious? You’d be okay with that.”_

_“Yeah.” Frank couldn’t stop the sneer from spreading across his face. “I just figured. Well. You know…”_

_“…what?”_

_“Well…” Frank let out a puff of breath and threw himself backwards into Matt’s overstuffed down pillows. If they were going to have *this* conversation, which it seemed like they were well on their way, he was going to do it in as comfortable a position as he could muster. “You never complained or said anything…and…I mean, could you blame me? You have a nice ass. I just figured…you…y’know…”_

_Matt glared down in his direction. “No. I don’t know. *What* did you figure, Frank?”_

_“I figured you liked it. You know…being the “chick”.” Truthfully, Frank had been uncomfortable phrasing it that way. He thought about how many women he and Matt had (probably) collectively been with (okay, Matt had racked up a score way more impressive than Frank’s). It felt as if somehow, Matt was insinuating that those women were ‘lesser’. Like it was a bad thing to be “On the bottom”. He was, however, not about to bring this up with Matt. Matt might’ve thought himself the more chivalrous of the two, but if he saw any kind of difference in what *they* were doing now as opposed to how they did it with those women…? (Frank wondered how many of those women realized after sleeping with Matt what a huge dick the guy could be sometimes)._

_“Have you ever…” Matt began._

_“No,” Frank answered honestly. He tried his best to not sound a little weirded out by the thought. Of course he hadn’t *ever*! Nobody puts their dick in the Punisher. (Frank had to make a mental note at that point to check his own masochistic attitude, but at a later date). “What me? No. Of course not.”_

_Matt pointed a finger at his chest. “See!?”_

_“What?”_

_“See that? Right there! You think I’m the “chick”!”_

_Frank bit his bottom lip, praying the pain would stop his snickering, but it only made the sound sharper and resulted in a painful jab under the ribs._

_“I’m serious!” Matt squawked. “Get out of here!” He tore at the silky sheets as Frank yanked back, a smart sneer crossing his face._

_“Naw, I don’t think so, Murdock! It’s cold out there, you know.” Frank dragged Matt back down into the plush coverings, the knotted muscles of his biceps trapping Matt’s chest against his own, experienced fingers trailing down Matt’s wide back._

_“You’re just lucky I put up with you,” Matt teased, brushing his knuckles under Frank’s chin._

_“You’re damn right I am,” Frank groaned, pulling Matt down for a kiss._

 

Frank is now lost in the sight of Matt bouncing himself on Frank’s swollen cock, the pressure and the heat building up deep within Matt’s body, his puckered entrance forming a perfect seal , keeping Frank locked inside. Frank feels his climax beginning to bloom, and stills his hips suddenly, five fingers wrapping around Matt’s painfully erect shaft. “You first, baby.”

 

Matt builds his rhythm and Frank matches with his hand, firm coaxing strokes causing Matt’s dick to sputter, coating both of them with his precum.

 

Matt bites down on his bottom lip in an effort to be quiet, a keening whine ebbing from his throat. Frank mutters encouraging little words, some of them dissolving halfway out into no more than grunts or groans, and soon Matt is coming all over both of them, cascades of creamy silk smattering Frank’s clenched abs.

 

Frank fills Matt soon after, arching upward into the tightness and drawing in a silent gasp, stars and fireworks and everything good and holy and right exploding his senses. They rock together, panting, as they ride the dying wave, Frank’s breath swelling against Matt’s earlobe as Matt peppers little kisses down Frank’s neck.

 

Matt’s bottom lip lands on Frank’s pulse, and he can hear/feel his heartbeat as it flutters from the aftershock. “Tell me it’ll always be like this,” he purrs, stroking his thumbs in little soothing circles around Frank’s shoulders, kissing away the sweat that glistens there.

 

“Naw, not always,” Frank mutters, adjusting so that they can both lay together, sprawled out on the too-tiny lounge. “Cuz now we won’t have to wait twelve weeks.”

 

Matt laughs softly, content to twirl Frank’s dog tags around his finger as they lay in the silence of the room, grateful for the cool rush of air that blows in through the open window.

 

* * * * *

 

Somehow, they had made it to the bed and it feels like Frank has just drifted off to sleep when he is awakened again by a sharp gasp and a body jolting beside him. “Wha…what is it?” He rubs the sleep from his eyes with a fist and blinks adjust his focus.

 

“Footsteps,” Matt murmurs, frozen in place with his head cocked, ear tilted towards the window. “Struggling.”

 

“Where,” Frank says. It’s not a question so much as an affirmation that he is up and at the ready to kick some ass. He tosses off the satin sheets, collecting his battle-worn boots from a discarded duffel bag in the corner of the room.

 

Matt is already wiggling into Frank’s oversized black hoodie.

 

Frank scowls down at the small pistol he managed to smuggle in. Guess they should’ve known better than to leave Matt’s suit and the *good* guns at home. No matter, he decides. After all, it has been a while since Frank has bashed in a skull with his bare hands—a little more effort, same result.

 

“They’re heading into a car. It might be a kidnapping.” Matt jerks the window open, *sensing* the rail below. They are about 33 stories up, but Frank is learning the effectiveness of what he calls Matt’s “par-cour bullshit” and is quickly following suit, hoisting himself over the railing and landing in as graceful a ball as he can muster, with Matt already fifty feet ahead.

 

And for just one split second, everything just seems *right* with the world. And well worth the wait.

 

\--End--

 

 

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